Retrospect
by Child-of-the-Dawn
Summary: Harry, in what would have been his seventh year at Hogwarts, finds a letter from a friend that brings him to November 1st, 1981 to help an old man with a fresh grief. AD, HP, mention of SS and Jelly Babies!


All I have to say is I'm sorry if the Doctor Who refferences go over your head...I'd just watched a rather good episode when I wrote this...bit of fluff, some Bonding!Dumbledore, and Good!Severus. Even though hes not in it. At all.

* * *

Harry felt sick as he sunk into the window seat, the letter falling to the floor from his limp hand. He couldn't do it.

He looked around the room that had once been _his._ Once belonged to one of the few people Harry could claim as family. Bluebell-colored walls clashed with a variety of loudly colored books and quills, candy boxes spilling over the tables and nightstand.

The room of Albus Dumbledore's childhood was where he now sat, a guest of Alberforth Dumbledore "for as long as you like." as the man had insisted. A week beforehand, Harry had found the real locket and come to the manor house seeking the wisdom of the Dumbledore family library. Alberforth, filled with a burning desire for victory, had eagerly obliged.

He'd immediately loved the room for its eccentricity, but now the room seemed dark and uninviting. He glanced down at the letter.

_My dear friend,_

_First of all, I'm so, so sorry. I failed when you were a baby: you should have been raised in my home, not in Surrey. I so-nearly failed you your first year (that was me yelling for you-nearly gave me a heart attack, I hope you know!) and I cannot help but think I failed you with my desire to follow my plan. I wanted to be there for you. And I wasn't. Not when you needed it._

_And still you stood beside me. I must thank you for that, and for giving me a moment to compose myself after what you said to Rufus. That was rather startling for an old soul like me._

_But on once more with the damned 'must dos' of our lives. Harry, I must tell you why I was so intent when I caught your gaze your first time in the Great Hall. I met you, Harry, the night after I left an infant on the steps of Number 4. He, that man ( -forgive me for being so grandparental a moment-- you grew up so much in a few short months!) told me what I needed to know: I will not say what you tell me, you will know, but I must ask you to take my Time Turner as it is set for you._

_I know this will be painful, for you are only to be seeing this after my death. I'm sorry, but you were quite adamant I write this. And may I say that you're not one to cross when your set in your way? I do wonder where that came from…perhaps too much time with Molly and Minerva…._

_Goodbye Harry, my spirit is with you always. And I have one last request for you.._

_Live, Harry. Please live._

_Yours in service of the Light,_

_(and your friend besides)_

_-__Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Harry bit his lip, unable to move from the window seat. He had always thought Dumbledore put too much faith in him, an average boy despite his famous scar. But that faith, whether it was warranted, had been a part of what sustained him. His adopted family had held him up for so long, his friends had given him courage, and the memories Remus shared with him gave his comfort. But that old man, that lonely old war hero, had given him the truest faith he could find, and now he felt he's seen the point where that faith was unable to push him forward.

'_Or backwards, as the case may be' _He thought wryly, flicking his wand lazily at a sock that had escaped his trunk sometime during his travels. It quivered a moment before jumping back into place. Harry made a mental note to share the small flick with Tonks.

How could Dumbledore expect him to do this? Well, in a way, he had and would. But that didn't stop him from dwelling on the headmaster's violent end. How cold Dumbledore had felt; he's always assumed that some warmth stayed behind, but perhaps magic was different. And how absolutely _not _Dumbledore he'd looked without the animation of his spirit sparkling through sky-blue eyes.

Harry took a deep breath. What did _he_, Harry, want to do? He'd yet to actually ask himself that question, thinking only on the surprise of the letter left carefully atop the pillow when he'd entered.

Looking once more at his surroundings, Harry mulled over his shaky state, going past the surprise and pain until a clear, commanding thought came to rest above all else.

It didn't matter that he'd yet to properly meet Dumbledore in the era the Time Turner was set to. He wanted to see him, just this once. And then whatever important information their conversation would force him to yield, he would yield, and the whole of time and space would be as it should. Harry didn't want to think what not going back would do.

"Fine. Dobby!" POP!

"Master Harry is calling Dobby?" Whispered the elf, a flick of his long fingers lighting the fireplace. Flickering light cast across the house elf's long ears and wide, open eyes.

"Yeah. Could you tell Alberforth I'm ok, but I got to…" He took the Time Turner from the envelope of the discarded letter and held it up. It glittered in the firelight. Dobby nodded silently.

"Yes, sir. Dobby will tell Master Alberforth. Though Dobby, Dobby wonders where it is Master Harry is going?"

"To see an old friend." Harry replied, smiling down on his strange friend. Dobby returned the smile with a large, toothy grin and patted Harry's knee.

"Old friends are good. Goodnight Master Harry."

"Night Dobby."

It was another twenty minutes, in which Harry changed out of his World Cup Shirt (bearing a recent year) and into a plain red jumper, leather jacket, and loose jeans. It wasn't exactly very 80s of him, but it was at least plain and unassuming. Taking a long, slow breath, Harry then made sure his wand was secure in the case he'd bought for it (Mad Eye's warning ever in his mind) and set the Time Turner round his neck.

With one last steadying breath, Harry spun the hourglass frame.

* * *

Time had had little effect on Whinging Rowe, the main thoroughfare of the town of Vivian Hill, where the Dumbledore family had long dwelt. That was, at least, the first thought in Harry's mind after he'd snuck away from the manor, stalling only long enough to catch a glimpse of a younger Alberforth walking a goat down the hall.

'_Nutters, the lot of them.' _He thought with a gentle smile. The whole family, from Alberforth's tellings, had all been very offbeat regardless of their age or era.

He wondered, then, where exactly he would see Albus Dumbledore, since it was obvious he was not at the manor.

Not at home. No one worked for a week after Godric's Hollow, even Hogwarts lay empty. Harry sat down on a park bench for a moment to think.

'_Think, Potter,'_ He said to himself, _'where would you go if you were him? Lets see…where does one go after making a particularly hard decision? The letter said he regretted leaving me at number 4…..' _

The thought, when it came, struck him like lightning, and he jumped up. Of course! Greatest wizard of the age is still a regular bloke underneath! And regular blokes, when fits of melancholy hit them, went to pubs!

There was only one pub worth going into in Vivian Hill, 1981, as Harry had learned in one of his seemingly inane conversations with Alberforth. The Pepper Pot! Harry sprinted across the park, heading towards the red-roofed pub on the last corner from the old mill.

He slowed to a walk a few blocks from the building, trying to quiet his racing heart, and not just from the exertion. He had been final in his decision to come back in his own time, but as he walked towards where he was almost sure he'd find Dumbledore, he was feeling less and less sure about the whole thing.

He opened the door with apprehension, catching the sudden influx of smoke and laughter from inside. Right, celebrations: Everyone gets smashed. He shook his head, wondering what they'd all think if they knew it was Lily Potter, not her son, whom they had to thank for their safety. Harry walked along the patron-lined bar, at one point having a free pint shoved into his hands by a boisterous Australian and his American girlfriend, until he saw him.

Albus Dumbledore had, regardless of anger or grief, never in Harry's memory looked as god-awful as he did November 1st of 1981. Perhaps careworn, only once ever truly (and understandably) weak in Harry's eyes, the Headmaster had always retained a certain dignity. That dignity, Harry was sure, had probably left him after the third shot of firewhisky.

He was sitting in a barstool set up against a window seat table, alone. Three little glasses once filled with the potent drink were neatly arranged before a newspaper in the old man's hands. His hair and beard look decent if a little frazzled, and his eyes stared out the window with a sort of softness born of self-recrimination, the kind Harry was most familiar with.

Here was the Dumbledore no one knew. Here was the human behind the myth the magical community embraced. Here was the Dumbledore only Harry, McGonagall, and a scant few others had ever seen.

Harry slowly sank into the seat beside him, smiling calmly as the older wizard looked over at him, not recognizing the emerald eyes through the slightly-drunken fog. He wasn't exactly drunk, if the sharpness of his movement were any indication, but still having had enough to quiet an otherwise smoldering conscience.

Now, how the hell does one start a conversation with a man they wouldn't speak to for ten years, a man who most understandably felt quite alone at the moment? And he'd never seen Dumbledore drink more than a few sips of wine at dinner. What he was like, even still generally in control, after a guilt-induced couple of rounds? So how to talk to him.

Dumbledore, as per usual despite the circumstance, fixed that little problem the next second.

"You have the aura of a time traveler."

"Damn," Harry said, genuinely impressed, "You ARE good." Only a few people in history were known to be able to feel temporal shifts. And every one of them had led the Time Travel bureau at the Ministry. Why Dumbledore hadn't was another little mystery.

Dumbledore gave a weak smile.

"What are you here for? Wanted to see the big day?" He laughed bitterly.

"No. I don't care for today anymore than yesterday. Kind of takes the wind out of the whole thing when you've lived it." Oops…he hoped that was mean't to be said.

Dumbledore's eyes widened to the size of Dobby's own as he spun around to fully face his companion. He saw, this time, Lily's eyes and James's messy hair, and almost fell out of his seat. Harry steadied him, somewhat impressed with himself for being able to cause that reaction in his future Headmaster.

"Merlin's beard…._Harry?!?_"

"Hi."

Dumbledore was silent for a few moments, motionless, before one hand came out to lay itself on the young wizard's shoulder. The two men looked at each other for a long moment in thought.

"What are you doing here?"

"You asked me to come. I'm from sixteen years down the line. You left me a letter saying I had to come back to this date to tell you something that you wouldn't say."

"Well, that's rather elaborate."

"No kidding. I mean, I'm here because I was here to tell you something important, but I told you something important because you told me I did. Do you know how much that screws with your head?"

"Undoubtedly." Said Dumbledore, dropping his hand.

They looked at one another a moment longer before Dumbledore's lip twitched into a half smile and Harry chuckled deeply.

"This is so bloody weird." Harry said after a moment, eyeing the shot glasses. Dumbledore, for his part, had the grace to look somewhat repentant.

"Not the man I appear, am I?"

"Well no. Not really. Then again, sitting in a pub with my Headmaster is kinda odd as is."

"Speaking of which, are you of age?"

"17, yeah."

"Udesus, a pint if you will." The barman nodded his head and shoved a filled glass down Harry's way. The young wizard nodded and took a sip, mulling over what he was going to say.

"You know," He said slowly," you really have a knack for going Gandalf on me when I need a straight answer."

"Yes. Sorry about that. Occupational Hazard."

"Suppose so…but I really do need to say something important to the rest of the world. You thinking of anything particularly troubling?"

Dumbledore considered him a moment, "Besides my worries about Alberforth—"

"—facing the Wizengamot over illegal charms on a goat?"

"Damnit."

"Yeah, you'll have to let him do that. But really, you must have been thinking of something to make me come back and tell you what you were thinking…oh.." Harry dropped his head in his hands.

"I hate time travel."

Dumbledore chuckled again, eyes sparkling in that way Harry missed so much, " I know the feeling. Try doing that while dealing with a man who runs around offering jelly babies to everyone he meets."

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget I mentioned it."

"Ok." Harry replied.

They say together in companionable silence, occasionally talking about everything from stories about Lily and James to Dumbledore's schooldays ("I set the bedcurtains on fire my fourth year. Funniest thing you'd ever seen.") until it was nearing dusk.

Harry felt, for all the wonderful warmth sitting there gave him, that he'd done nothing to help the future by the time Dumbledore suggested they walk back to the Manor. Nodding, he got up and the two made their way up the hill towards the estate, enjoying the cool twilight hour as the sun sank behind the hilltops.

"You know," said Dumbledore quite suddenly, eyeing Harry with a strange look, "I think I've figured out why I sent you here to see me."

"Yeah?"

Dumbledore considered him once more, a soft smile gracing the weathered features and lighting up the blue eyes with a spark. The old man laid a hand on Harry's shoulder as he spoke.

"Harry, the only thing I was thinking of before you came in was that I'd never be able to be there for you and so many others I care for." Harry felt his cheeks grow warm in the cool air, and he quite suddenly found his shoes very interesting.

Oh…he hadn't of thought of that. With the war raging, he himself had almost let the severity of his duty overtake him, thinking the only reason Dumbledore would of written that letter was for the war, Harry's Destiny. He'd never even considered…

"I'm a daft old fool, aren't I? Making you come all this way just so I can see I don't destroy everything."

"No." Harry said, looking up at his headmaster sharply. Something wet was gathering round his eyes, and he blinked quite a few times before the thought that he'd just given away Dumbledore's death day hit him square in the eyes. Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his other shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Harry…don't even worry about me knowing my end. When I go…when I went…I can tell you I went as I wished. And don't look at me like that." He said in response to Harry's disbelieving expression," I did. I will." Strong blue eyes bored into green and for a moment Harry's mind stopped working. When it did, understanding lit up the young hero's face like a torch.

"You die as you wish….you…you sent me here to find that out…that means.." His mind spun furiously over the ideal. If Dumbledore was positive his death was going to be as HE, not Voldemort, wanted it…then that meant.

In a flurry of joy, Harry threw his arms around Dumbledore's neck and hugged him, laughing. He had been so lost as to how to plan his next move, how to find a way into Voldemort's inner circle for more information, that he'd missed the obvious. And Dumbledore had looked so sure! If he was right….

Dumbledore laughed as Harry hugged him, hugging the younger wizard back with more energy than one should have past one hundred and thirty. When Harry let go, both of them were grinning.

"Mad, you are! Absolutely barking!"

"And you're well on your way to it yourself!" Dumbledore replied, laughing without truly understanding why. It would come to him one day, when he sat down to write the hardest letter he'd written since 1945, but for the moment it only mattered that he'd made the most of three hours with a man who'd become a good friend ( after he grew up into that man, that is.).

A small humming sound broke the cheerful mood, as Harry picked up the special Time Turner. It was glowing a soft blue, the warning that his time was up. Harry looked back up at Dumbledore wide-eyed.

"Can't I tell you? Can't we change things? Just this once?"

The Headmaster regarded him seriously, shaking his head, " No, Harry. If we did, you'd never come back here, I'd never of had this conversation with you, and therefore we'd never change things because you never needed to come back….and…well do I need to go on?"

"ouch…no…I..I think I've got it…." Harry replied, massaging his temples.

"Temporal paradoxes. Love them." Said Dumbledore, laughing. He looked once more at Harry with a kind gaze before raising one hand in farewell and turning to finish the walk up the drive. Harry watched him go, at once saddened and at peace as the figure of the Greatest Wizard he'd ever know disappeared into the twilight.

It took him a few moments after that to realize he was back in his time, one hand clutching the Time Turner round his neck. When he came to full consciousness, he immediately packed his bags with a wave or two of his wand.

He had work to do.


End file.
